This was in Tennessee. Sheppard was unwillingly compelled to listen. Not once during the ceremony did the two look at each other, but riveted their gaze upon the lips of the man who was forging the bands: gazed intensively, as if they feared the world might vanish before the last word of the ceremony was spoken. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. Wild, however, proved, on the evidence of his own servants, that he was at the Old Bailey at the time; and Sir Rowland proved that he was in Manchester. Now let us forget it. You're a queer lad. In a moment or two, Madame Valade recovered her sangfroid.
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